


Fall Out Winter

by SomeGoodSheith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, Or am I, alternative setting - the galran arena, everyone is in pain, shiro never left the arena, this is purely for the angst guys i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 22:28:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13668615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeGoodSheith/pseuds/SomeGoodSheith
Summary: Shiro has to fight. No matter what, the arena is his home now, and he will do anything to win. Anything to survive.One glance at his opponent, and he knows it's not a fight he can win.





	Fall Out Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leosunderground](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leosunderground/gifts).



The slice of the knife through flesh and bone, the spill of blood and a short, weak gasp. That's all Shiro hears when he pushes his weapon into Keith's chest. 

 

Everything else is completely muted. 

 

*

 

_ Remember, champion. You need to choose. It's you or the enemy. If you don't choose, you both die. _ That's what the galra soldier told him before opening the gates of the arena before him for god knows how many times by now. (He has already lost count of the days he’s been here. It doesn't matter when all you see, day and night, is the death of so many innocent prisoners forced into battle - by your own hands, no less. But if you're exactly like them, are you really as innocent?)

 

At first, he has no idea what the guard is talking about. That reminder is meaningless - he already knows it's the only choice he has. It's the only thing that keeps him alive around here. If anything else has, before, it has been pushed into the back of his mind, forgotten and muffled by the screams of his own and of others alike. 

 

As soon as he sees his opponent, however, Shiro's blood freeze in his veins. 

 

_ Keith _ . Why is he here? When did they take him? How long has he been here? Did the galra reach Earth? How did they know to take _ him,  _ out of everyone else? 

 

He sees the other man's eyes go wide, and knows he wears the same expression. His heart is racing, but his breath is stuck in his throat, making his lungs ache for air. 

 

_ No. Please, God, not him. _

 

The announcement of the beginning of battle is called, but neither of them moves. 

 

Shiro is about to speak - but the announcement is made again. 

 

There won't be a third time. 

 

So, he attacks. Keith is still visibly shocked, but he holds his own. “Shiro,” he whispers when they get close to each other between the clinks of their weapons, “Shiro - I - ”

 

“Fight,” Shiro whispers back. “We have no other choice.”

 

So they fight. It seems Keith knows his way around, much less than Shiro does, but he manages to make do. 

 

Until he doesn't. 

 

The first time Shiro's blade is piercing Keith's shoulder, his cry is making his lover's body shake with regret. He holds his breath again, and a wave of self hatred is washing him. 

 

Despite that, Keith smiles weakly. 

 

They hurt each other. They shed each other's blood, little by little, in small wounds. 

 

Shiro realizes they're both thinking the same - stalling. Avoiding the inevitable. Holding hope in their chests that if they fight just a little longer, just a little gentler, they would be left alone, tossed each to his cage, and won't have to fight each other again. 

 

But he also knows that it's false hope. 

 

The crowd is growing impatient. The guards are grinding their teeth - they're getting bored by the opponents carefulness. 

 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers between his heavy breaths, “I saw you fight many times before. They admire you… They want you to survive.”

 

“No,” Shiro shakes his head, pretending to miss Keith's leg again. “I'm not going to kill you. I can't.”

 

“You can.” The sentence is firm. A fact. A  _ plea _ . 

 

“No. No, don't say that… Please. Don't say that.”

 

“I'm nobody. You can survive here and get out when you get the chance. I can't. Not now, that they put me against you.”

 

“Keith - ”

 

“Shiro. Do it. For me.”

 

The weak whisper is ringing in his ears as if it was a scream. 

 

The crowd is booing. The guards are setting their weapons in place. 

 

And Keith looks at Shiro with the softest of smiles. There's no shame or regret behind his eyes. 

 

“At least I know… That your face is the last one I'll ever see. And…” tears are streaming down his face, but it doesn't keep him from speaking further. “... I'm glad it's you.”

 

Shiro shakes his head again, while Keith is moving forward. They fight a bit more, running around, sliding their blades into each other's flesh, drawing as much blood as they can without putting much of a fight. 

 

It works, and the crowd is cheering again. 

 

“Kill him!” they all shout, filling the arena with their loud demands and chants of death. “Champion! Kill him! Champion!”

 

“Shiro,” Keith's smallest voice is barely audible beyond the noise, but his lips move clearly, even when Shiro's tears are in the way. “I love you.”

 

*

 

The moments after Keith's body falls in front of him are passing in such a haze, that Shiro can barely catch up. First, it's completely silent. Then he hears himself screaming. He feels his body moving forward without his permission, as if his lover is a planet with such strong gravitation that he can't resist. His arms are wrapping around the body, despite the guards that make their way to pull them apart. 

 

Then, it's all a blur. He remembers the thought of his lover's body being tossed upon a pile somewhere like it was nothing, forgotten and left to rot, or worse - experimented on -  and it's making him go wild. He remembers pressing himself to Keith, screaming his name in a kind of agony that isn't going to heal. He remembers whispering into Keith's deaf ears through his tears. 

He remembers pain. 

 

It takes ten galra soldiers to pull him away. The champion puts up another fight, this time with everything he has, but eventually they manage to break his contact with his lover's body and drag him out of the arena. 

 

Then, he goes quiet. He doesn't listen to the cheers of the crowd from outside, or the laughter of the guards as they guide him back to his cell. He doesn't pay attention to any of the other prisoners that stare at him, some with pride, some with fear. 

 

None of them is worth his attention anymore. 

 

*

 

That night, Shiro doesn't sleep. Keith's face, bloody and scared and beautiful, is haunting him. His silent voice is whispering in his ear.

 

It doesn't need to convince him to do anything. He already knows what he needs to do. 

 

He sits in the dark side of his cage, with Keith's knife in his hands. He managed to steal it when the guards didn't notice. It seems that even when his mind was blank, his body already acted on its own. 

 

He stares at it for a moment longer. It was still filled with Shiro's dry blood from the battle, just like his own clothes were filled with Keith's. 

 

He draws one last breath and sticks the knife in his chest. 

 

A few seconds pass, and the champion is no more. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a gift for @leosunderground. I hope you enjoyed it and shared my tears!
> 
> I would love to know your opinion, please consider telling me what you think :>


End file.
